literature

On Winter

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Literature Text

I have always been fascinated by winter because I don’t know it. I’ve never touched the snow, and you could say that I really can’t say I know what being cold is. Beyond the frost in the fridge or the bump I once got in my head when that little cloud (one of those, the “funny”-type) decided that it would be amusing to throw some hail on my skull. At least I can say I know what ice is....

Ice hurts; especially during the Cold Wars, at parties- in this case, a birthday party. It was good that small pools of water formed afterwards and that these also evaporated- therefore the host didn’t have to sweep away all the remains from the Domestic Civil War. Of course, she still ended up mad as a rabid dog whose raw ass had been sprayed with alcohol, getting all flared up and red like a tomato to the point in which it seemed she was fuming from her navel…but that is another tale altogether.

I don’t understand what it is about snow in pictures that attracts me so! It’s imply frozen rain right? White even, the most boring color there is!…cold, it causes accidents, slippery, tricky, devilish, invasive, and overwhelming. Snow dominates the landscape overextending its hands into everything she can, damages the ground underneath, hides the mud, kills the unfortunate and makes your electricity bill a bit “delicious”- that is unless you decide to live like the good ol’ times- no calefaction; or unless all of a sudden you decide to go psychotic and forcefully stick in your head that from today on you’re an Eskimo.

Then again there are people who believe that white is pure and virginal and innocent and immaculate, all the doctrinaire & religious clichés that they fill our tanks with since we are small. By simply saying pure and put this word right next to virginal my mind is raped by images of brides at the altar tying down their fallopian trumps to a closet redneck mamma’s boy who will surely end up tiring of her with the pass of ages, drinking lots of beer to honor the god of the beer gut, Cervetzu, and watching lots of cable tv. Meanwhile she will wash the dishes, cook for him, and suck his thing from time to time just to cover bases so he stays home more often and doesn’t hang out at the corner’s bar so much and who knows what else…

It also makes me think of milk and how milk expires too soon, and that after all I like my milk pretty watered down and that it indeed does not combine with pineapple. Winter’s snow mustn’t taste like milk. If it did people wouldn’t be able to take a peek outside the window without having their noses invaded by smelly memories of the stench of the error of smelling the damn carton without looking at the expiration date first.

The word itself in Spanish is what really bothers me. In English it’s winter, but in Spanish once I say “invierno” I immediately think “hibernarción”. Winter and Hibernation are not similar at all; in Spanish they are. This makes me remember when my mom punished me and sent me to my bedroom (which didn’t work: I had my sketchbook, trusty pens and *Magic Markers*!). It seems as if winter imposes hibernation…like you father did, like your mother commanded. It encloses you inside you home, covering the ceiling, the windows & every entrance. Or at least that is what I imagine it like. Perhaps it’s fun to be caged in by winter and to die of cold. I don’t know this because I haven’t lived it (I am unsure if i want to die of hypothermia too).

The Coldness, the impure white, the nature of winter itself is what captivates me. I love how it kills the leaves of trees and freezes the lakes, how it invades our lands and hide us forcefully in our houses, how it shows us its strength, its iron passivity and its stormy aggressiveness. It’s precious how snow is white, blue, and gray; how it dyes brown with mud; with urine it yellows (which is why they say “don’t eat the yellow snow”); that in fact, I believe that if I had seen snow as a kid I would’ve had so much fun peeing on it to make drawings and to sign it with my name- just to discredit winter, the true author, my mental jailer. But farther than pee and mud, is its simple beauty what charms me.

The fact that every snowflake is different to the rest, and all the incredible designs they have which almost no one enjoys because of the quasi-impossibility of visibility. I love how the sky changes and paints itself different. Also, I like how the fur of certain creatures harmonizes with the white of the season integrating themselves to the snowy atmosphere. How everything that isn’t white jumps at the eye- acquires position and importance; the blue of the sky, the gold of dead grass, the dark umber of tree bark, the red of blood and the dark indigo blue of the nocturne skies impregnated with stars. But more than anything else, what truly enchants me about winter is the promise of spring- that within all the eternity of the powerful and domineering whiteness the roots of spring and future summer lay asleep.

By having eternal springs and summers life seems longer. The heat is more of a tyrant, rain grows boring- the unbearable vapors get inside all your pores making you sweat like a horse in mating season. Here there is not autumn for there is no winter. We don’t have the season of reds and almighty oranges- even more precious than the white of snow. Without white they are nothing, they don’t stand out, there is no winter there to make you miss them and remember them. If you don’t have winter you don’t have spring, you don’t have autumn- you remain alone with a damnable eternal summer where all you have is normal heat or hellfire heat all year long.

Then again these things I’m saying could all be bullshit. Perhaps when I finally make first contact with Mr. Winter- like once Dalí thought about Freud after admiring him for so long- I’ll end up hating it as much as I hate summer.
An essay i did last week. My thoughts on the seasons.
© 2005 - 2024 oz-haver
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drop-asd's avatar
I really got into it since I lost my winter 3 years ago. I don't know if it is because of the damn global warming but I haven't seen real thick snow for years. I remember when I was a kid I loved playing and rolling in the snow, building snow castles, creating snow men and women, skiing and throwing snow balls. Anyway, now it's gone (besides they tell me I'm too old for playing :upset: ) and what I wanted to actually tell you was that I really like those parts where you talk about the snow flakes and how nobody enjoys their beauty because nobody sees it. Also when you say that you love winter because of the promise for spring and because it makes you miss the things it kills. Now, I'm sorry for that blah-blah thing, just wanted to say it's beautiful. :blush: